


ghosting

by lutece



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, because of rhaella, though there is rape/violence implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 21:45:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutece/pseuds/lutece
Summary: Jaime knows Queen Rhaella has never truly been asleep.





	ghosting

The Targaryens reign over his country and yet Ser Jaime thinks them disconnected from his world. Their skin is so pale it almost shimmers or shines, like scales; their hair is eerily translucent white, and their purple eyes are more akin to something fetched out of a child’s fairytale.

In general, they glide around like the world is their dish. He supposes it has been, ever since Aegon the Conqueror decided to eat it.

Queen Rhaella is not much of a dragon, though, he observes. She either never had the same sharp teeth or had them taken out by her brother’s overshadowing madness, long before they were even wed. She cowers before every instance of man, even her own Kingsguard, and Jaime thinks it rightful—after all, he was cruelly forbade from protecting her the night before as the King forcibly took his fill.

She’s  _weak_ , his father would bluntly say, and little Prince Viserys is a brat. The only hope she has is Prince Rhaegar, whose foolishness is bringing a bitter war to the South with the Starks and Baratheons, and young Ser Jaime.

“Your Grace,” Jaime greets her.

Rhaella likes the sun, but it makes her look like a spectre out in the courtyard gardens. She doesn’t respond at first, a few beats of silence before she looks up at him with a trained smile.

“Ser Jaime,” she returns. She pushes out a chair and puts a black, silk cushion on it. “Would you like to sit?”

He appreciates she is also not like a dragon in the regard she seems to welcome everyone into her bubble, without a fiery tongue or snapping jaw to follow it. He is the only soldier she can really stand to interact with, too. Perhaps because, as many would say, he is still green off the back of boyhood. He is possibly her Rhaegar before the turmoil.

But Jaime shakes his head gently, gesturing to his armour.

“I am always on duty, my queen, I could not rest. I only wanted to make sure…”

Rhaella is a mauled sort of ghost. The bruising has started swelling up in a multitude of colours at her cheekbone, dulled red scratches wide over her shoulders. It is a typical night for her, he’s told snidely by less loyal fellows. Even at seventeen, Jaime knows it wrong to harm a woman so, never mind a queen. He can not imagine hurting his sister.

“To make sure you are well this morning, Your Grace,” he continues, carefully.

She’s not like to talk about it. If she talks about it, it will make it real. So she smiles prettily like she’s been taught, and tilts her head. Jaime expected nothing less.

“Perfectly fine, Ser. My son is there playing, and it’s a warm day… The summer seems good to us. Our blood doesn’t run as hot as it used to…”

Jaime hasn’t even noticed Viserys in the gardens before them, tormenting insects. He’s so small he blends into the grass, growing long—everything’s growing long, like King Aerys’ fingernails which he won’t let anyone cut just in case they cut him too. This is a court of paranoia and weeds, and Jaime is just a nameless observer.

“You are my queen,” he murmurs when he looks back down to her. He will at least bend and take her fragile hand to let her know that.

This time when Rhaella looks at him, she speaks to him through her eyes at least.

“You are my blade, Ser Jaime.” Her voice is a wisp trying on strong words. For once, it works. “I may need you one day.”

This statement is different than all she’s said before. He retracts his hand with furrowed eyebrows. She goes on smiling, drinking tea which he’s sure is of the moon, religiously.

Jaime knows Queen Rhaella has never truly been asleep. She’s no walking ghost, her heart still pumps with life even if she drifts past everyone and everything. She knows of Aerys’ exploits, firsthand, hosting plenty of marks to prove his downfall. 

And Jaime wonders if her being awake is ten times more unnerving a thought than otherwise.


End file.
